


If I Loved You Less

by Thestarlitrose



Category: Emma - Jane Austen, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale reads to Crowley, Excerpts from Emma, M/M, Not Beta Read, Takes place while Crowley is Nanny and Aziraphale Brother Francis, night off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/pseuds/Thestarlitrose
Summary: A Good Omens fic inspired by the confession scene in Emma by Jane Austen: "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”Aziraphale whispers the words of Knightley’s confession to Crowley while he sleeps in hopes it will be enough.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	If I Loved You Less

They’d gone out to dinner, or rather, Aziraphale had gone out to dinner only for Crowley to show up as he was being seated. These rare occasions were so special to him, being allowed in the demon’s presence, to bask in him.

  
What they were doing was wrong, Aziraphale knew this all too well. Crowley was a demon, a creature who had turned against the Almighty and had fallen into the pits of hell as a result.

But, he was also the one being who held his heart. It was blasphemous, wrong and dangerous. An angel of the lord loving a foul creature of hell; despicable, but Crowley was anything but foul. He was charming, kind and curious.

Aziraphale had sobered up once Crowley had fallen asleep, head in his lap, cheek pressed firmly against his belly. With each exhale, his warm breath stirred him, seeped into him. Aziraphale’s left hand was curled in the demon’s fiery locks, combing through the length of hair as he read the lines of one of his favorite novels; Emma.

Crowley needed the rest, tired as he was. He’d been playing mother to little Warlock Dowling because the boy’s actual mother refused to. He spent most of his time with the boy, feeding him and caring for him in a capacity Aziraphale had been surprised by. The child loved his nanny; it was so plain to see. More importantly, Crowley loved the child.

Aziraphale’s eyes roamed over the familiar pages, he’d always felt a strange kinship to Emma Woodhouse, likely because he too had found himself irrevocably in love with his best friend all the while he was clearly in love with someone else. He only wished his ending could be a happy one, but the angel knew it wasn’t to be. They were incompatible, Heave and Hell would never stand for it.

He was nearing the end of the novel, this chapter had always caused him heartache. It gave him false hope, a sense of possibility that he knew would never come to fruition.

As he read the lines, he could almost pretend the voice was that of a demon. He stopped and chewed his lip thoughtfully and began to read aloud. Softly he spoke, just a whisper, allowing the words to run freely that he could not bring himself to say.

> “I stopped you ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain.—But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of anything that you may have in contemplation—as a friend, indeed, you may command me.—I will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think.”

Aziraphale glanced down at the demon, just to be sure he was truly asleep. Crowley sighed contently, shifting slightly, mouth agape in his sleep. Aziraphale continued:

> “As a friend!"—repeated Mr. Knightley.—"Emma, that I fear is a word—No, I have no wish—Stay, yes, why should I hesitate?— I have gone too far already for concealment.—Emma, I accept your offer— Extraordinary as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend.—Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?” He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her.

Aziraphale felt his voice grow heavy with unshed emotion.

> “My dearest Emma,” said he, “for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hour’s conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma—tell me at once. Say ‘No,’ if it is to be said."— She could really say nothing.—"You are silent,” he cried, with great animation; “absolutely silent! at present I ask no more.”
> 
> Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling.

He glanced down once more at the sleeping demon, he inhaled, a deep steadying breath. He was surprised when he continued to read, that his voice was unwavering. With each word, a weight was lifted from him. Perhaps this would be enough, at least for now.

> “I cannot make speeches, Emma:” he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.—"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.—You hear nothing but truth from me.—I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.— Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.— But you understand me.—Yes, you see, you understand my feelings—and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.“

Aziraphale paused as if he were waiting for a reply he knew wouldn’t come. His bravado lost, he swallowed then sent the book to its place on his shelf, unable to read it any longer.

He laid his head back against the cushion, reveling in the warm demon sleeping in his lap.

Aziraphale was surprised to find the next morning, that he was wrapped snugly in a heavy red and black blanket that smelled faintly of Crowley.

"Crowley?” he asked the empty shop. Aziraphale realized he was gone, he’d rather hoped they would get breakfast this morning before returning to the estate. He lingered, allowing his fingertips to brush over the ornate floral patterns decorating the fabric. He brought the fabric to his nose and inhaled; cedar and smoke, Crowley. It warmed him and brought a serene smile to his face. It was the small things Crowley did that made it difficult, that gave him hope Crowley could one day love him as dearly as he loved the demon. 

Many years later, Aziraphale found himself being held tightly under the large apple tree in their garden. It hung heavy with fruit, ready for the picking. He thought it might be nice to bake a pie for dessert, perhaps with a little vanilla ice cream dolloped on top. He wiggled against the demon behind him, trying to find a position where his leg wouldn’t fall asleep as it was currently doing.

“’Ziraphale?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you remember the night I met you for ramen?”

He shook his head, “Which time?”

“Warlock was little, still in diapers actually. We went back to the shop to have a drink.”

Aziraphale stiffened, he remembered that night well. A flush began to creep up his cheeks and around his ears. “Oh, yes… I believe I do.”

Crowley chuckled warmly, “What was the book you were reading?”

“Oh!” he gasped, “You… you were awake?”

“Course I was, you were letting me be close to you and your fingers were divine.”

Aziraphale swallowed, “So…You-you heard me?”

Crowley sat up, tugging Aziraphale with him. “Yeah, I did. Gave me hope that one day you’d be mine,” he said softly.

Aziraphale turned to look at him, his pale skin a pretty shade of rose, “had I known you were awake…”

“I know, but I’m glad you didn’t.”

He nodded, “I do love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, Aziraphale.”

**Author's Note:**

> To read Emma, which I 100% recommend, find it here:
> 
> https://www.gutenberg.org/files/158/158-pdf.pdf


End file.
